


Wild Things

by twoscarypandas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Comedy, Fantasy, Gen, Hetabang 2020, Human England, Humor, Zoo, centaur America, centaur Canada, naga France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoscarypandas/pseuds/twoscarypandas
Summary: Francis, a naga, tries to escape a mythological zoo alongside centaurs Alfred and Matthew. Surely this plan will turn out better than the last twelve. Based on artwork by DragonCatZombie.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Wild Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second of two stories I wrote for Hetabang 2020! My partner, DragonCatZombie, and I both love monsters so we traded stories/art with the same mythological characters. [This story is based on the amazing (and hilarious) artwork by DragonCatZombie.](https://dragoncatzombie.tumblr.com/post/616661612552699904/12-wooo-finished-my-art-for-the-hetabang-event) Give them all the love on tumblr.

If he has to spend one more day being ogled by London’s populace while winding his way around the same three trees, Francis is going to scream. The naga has been part of the London Zoo of Mythology for four years now, ever since he was found impaled in a poacher’s pit trap. It was nice at first. The zoologists treated his wounds and helped rehabilitate him. He didn’t have to hunt for his meals, and he enjoyed talking to his centaur neighbors, Alfred and Matthew, as well as the human guests.

The human who acts as the keeper for their part of the zoo is one Arthur Kirkland, Ph.D. in Mythical Zoology and Cryptozoology. As with everything else at the zoo, Francis can’t technically complain about his treatment. Arthur is an expert in the biology, diet, and social needs of his charges. For the first few years, Francis happily exchanged his first-hand experience naga life for Arthur’s more scientific knowledge of the species. A cage is a cage, however, even if his captors are kind.

Francis has been healthy and whole for two years now, perfectly capable of surviving on his own. The zoo should have released him; Arthur _promised_ they would, and he’d believed it despite Alfred and Matthew’s skeptical comments. The centaurs are younger than Francis, but they have been in the zoo longer. Some tragedy occurred when they were foals, too young to remember the specifics. They were raised in the zoo, and as such have been declared ‘unfit’ to be released into the wild.

Francis entertains them with stories of his home, a forest in the Vosges mountains of France. He’s seen herds of centaurs before from a distance, but they rarely draw near to his forest – he avoids any questions as to why. Now that he’s become friends with Alfred and Matthew, Francis doubts he’ll be able to eat any sapient creatures again. Perhaps he really is beyond rehabilitation.

Still, his stories feed the centaurs’ imaginations and his desire for freedom fuels their own. Discussing the logic of their release doesn’t work with the human zoologists, so instead they must be crafty. So far, all such attempts have ended in failure, including plan #1, ‘climb/jump over the enclosure’ (thwarted by barbed wire and the centaurs’ poor ability to see distance without glasses); #6, ‘Alfred and Matthew kick their fence down and then release Francis’ (the fence around the centaur pasture turned out to be reinforced steel); and #11, ‘construct a slingshot made of strings, shed naga skin, and horsehair between the trees in Francis’ enclosure to catapult him over the wall’ (Francis did not stick the landing). Finally, Francis opts to try something simple: plan #13, ‘distract the keeper, get the keys.’

The thing about Arthur is that he’s organized to a fault. He only deviates from his schedule when forced to do so. It won’t be easy to distract him from his tasks. The good news is that they also know exactly when Arthur will feed them, where he’ll stand, and where on his belt the keys will rest.

Alfred has all the subtlety of a firework and is well-known for goading Arthur into long conversations/arguments, so the centaurs are tasked with creating a diversion. This suits Francis just fine, since he his tail gives him greater reach and flexibility. One of the trees in his enclosure is close to the centaur’s fence; if he curls around it and stretches, he can make it just far enough over the barbed wire to touch Alfred’s hand. It’s not enough for him to make it all the way over the wall, but it might be enough for him to reach a certain keeper’s belt.

None of the zoo’s residents have seen Arthur without the keys since his promotion to head keeper – which means they will have a limited time to make use of them before Arthur notices. Matthew, the logician of their operations, points out that Arthur is so attached to them he might notice the weight difference as soon as Francis lifts the keys from his belt. That means they’ll have to replace the keys with something equivalent at the same time.

Francis spends two weeks practicing his sleight of hand. He starts by taking things from the centaurs and then graduates to guests, gathering bits of jewelry, zoo memorabilia, and car keys until he can create a keychain that imitates Arthur’s, at least in weight distribution. In the meantime, Alfred and Matthew spend more and more time chatting with Arthur when he stops by, learning as much as they can about what holds his attention. The answer, as Francis suspected, turns out to be Alfred himself: Alfred’s record for getting the keeper off-track starts at 5 minutes and graduates to fifteen by the time their preparations are complete.

Matthew is the mastermind behind their plans for after the escape. He studies maps of the zoo over guests’ shoulders by offering to point them towards the most interesting exhibits. He helps Alfred and Francis ration their food supplies and store it out of sight so that Arthur and the other keepers don’t notice. He even has Francis steal a map of London from the pocket of a guest and plots out a route through the subway, where they are be less likely to be spotted.

It’s a team effort, through-and-through.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” Francis says. It’s minutes before Arthur is due to arrive with the centaur’s dinner. He’s already curled around the tree closest to the centaur enclosure, talking to his co-conspirators.

“That’s what you said last time,” Matthew complains.

“And the time before that, and the time before _that_ ,” Alfred adds.

Francis waves them off. “This time is different. You’ll see.”

“You said that last time, too,” Matthew mutters.

“At least try not to look so nervous, Matthew dear. It might be a while before we can safely cross the channel, but by tomorrow we’ll be out of London at the very least. Just think of the fresh grass beneath your hooves,” says Francis.

“Yup. No time to back down now, anyway. I’ve got a visual on the target,” says Alfred.

Francis shifts in his tree and peers over the guests. Sure enough, a blonde human wearing the zoo’s green uniform is making his way through the crowd, a basket of apples in hand and, more importantly, a set of keys jingling on his belt.

“Good luck, gentlemen,” says Francis. With that, he stretches out along a thick branch and rests his head in his arms, feigning sleep.

“Don’t fall out of the tree,” Matthew replies. Then Arthur is upon them, and there’s no more time for warnings or second thoughts.

“Good evening, boys,” Arthur says. “How’s your day been? The guests treating you well?”

Alfred shrugs. “Same old, same old. Pretty boring, to be honest. I wish some kid would throw a tantrum nearby, just to liven things up.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’ll see if I can arrange that for you.”

“Please don’t,” says Matthew. He tries not to turn his eyes upward, where Francis is ever-so-slowly slithering off the branch.

“Well, we can talk more about enrichment activities another time. Everyone needs their dinner, you know. And on that note – here’s yours!” Arthur lifts the basket of apples up above the fence.

Alfred reaches in and takes one, making a show of inspecting it. Above them, Francis has managed to get his torso over the wall and is reaching out for Arthur’s belt. He’s still too far for his fingers to connect.

“Apples _again_?” says Alfred, with such exasperation that Francis can’t be sure if he’s forgotten about the mission entirely in favor of his complaints. “This whole place smells amazing day in and day out, yet all we ever get are apples, carrots, and oats.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times already, Alfred, I am _not_ giving you hamburgers! You’d thank me if you knew what was good for you. Meat, especially a fried abomination like that, would completely upset your digestive system,” Arthur replies. He forces the basket into Alfred’s hands.

“Come on, I’ve eaten things way worse than that. The kids used to give me ice cream all the time,” says Alfred.

“I’m aware. That’s why we had to install all of these lovely signs that say, ‘Please do not feed the centaurs.’ You were getting unhealthy.”

“Please? Just a little one, just once?” Alfred begs.

Francis uncurls some of his tail from the tree and stretches his arm as far as he can. _Just a little bit further…_

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Alfred. The answer is a resounding _no,_ for the sake of your health.” Arthur starts to turn, the keys sliding away from Francis’ grasp. He’s seconds away from coming eye-to-eye with the naga.

“Wait!” Matthew cries out.

At the same time, Alfred rears back and shouts, “Are you calling me fat?! I can’t believe this. What kind of keeper are you, going around and insulting your charges? I’m reporting you!”

“Such sensitive creatures,” Arthur mutters. He turns his attention back to the centaurs. “I apologize if that’s how you took it. That wasn’t my intention at all. I am merely expressing concern for your welfare based on my extensive study of your species – which is, as you may recall, my job.”

Francis doesn’t dare to breathe a sigh of relief. He forces his body to stretch that last inch and hooks the keys on his nails. Ever-so-carefully he lifts the chain of them off of Arthur’s belt, using his other hand to replace them with his slipshod fakes. His entire body trembles with the strain of maintaining his balance. 

“Oh, so now you only care about us because you’re getting paid to. I see how it is,” says Alfred.

This close, Francis can practically hear the grind of Arthur’s teeth. “Stop putting words in my mouth. I’ve raised the two of you since you were foals, barely higher than my shoulders. Of course I care about you. That’s why I make sure what you eat is healthy, and why I don’t want you going off into the wild where you’ll most assuredly starve – or worse – no matter what that snake tells you. Speaking of, where is Francis? He never misses the opportunity to insult me…”

Once again, the keeper’s gaze begins to turn. Francis’ nails are still caught in Arthur’s belt, and he knows the man must feel the tug of it. There’s no way he can get back up into his tree with the keys in the next five seconds. It’s over, another plan down the drain–

Except that’s when Matthew makes his move. “Thank you, Arthur.”

The words are quiet, but they catch the keeper’s attention just as well as Alfred’s outburst. “Whatever for?”

“For taking care of us. You’re right, you’ve been in our lives longer than our herd ever was. So, thank you,” says Matthew. “We don’t tell you that enough. We care for you, too.”

Choked up, Arthur struggles to respond. Francis takes the opportunity to untangle his fingers and slowly reel himself back within the confines of his own enclosure.

“I…well, you’re welcome. It’s my pleasure,” Arthur stammers.

Safely back in his tree, Francis gives a thumbs up to signal the all-clear and settles against a branch, the keys tucked in the coils of his tail. His heart is hammering in his chest, but he does his best to make it seem as if he’s been sleeping this entire time.

Alfred grins. “Well, that’s really touching and all Arthur, but don’t you have a bunch of other creatures to lovingly poison with all that healthy stuff?”

Arthur glances at his watch. “Damn, I do. We really will talk more about your enrichment, later, boys. I promise.” He starts to walk back the way he came, then pauses just under the branch Francis is resting on. “By the way. Those keys don’t open any of the enclosures. They’re for the janitor’s closets and storage sheds. I think you’re looking for these.”

Arthur reaches into his breast pockets and plucks out another set of keys. He raises them above his head and jangles them in front of Francis with a smirk. Outraged, Francis darts out to grab them – only to finally tip his balance and slip out of the tree entirely.

“Better luck next time, chaps,” says Arthur. He twirls the keys around his finger, stuffs them into his pocket, and walks away. He even has the audacity to whistle.

Francis pounds his fist against the floor of his enclosure, the useless keys digging into his palm. Time to start working on plan #14.


End file.
